


Who's That Girl

by alchemystique



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, New Girl au, because why not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1407751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemystique/pseuds/alchemystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is the twelfth apartment she’s looked at today, and it’s getting a little ridiculous, if she’s being honest with herself. She’s practically Goldilocks right now - too small, too big, too smelly, too many cats, not enough light; she’s run the gamut of things that she doesn’t like and it doesn’t help that she is really, really not a huge fan of people right now."</p><p>--- Emma Swan's apartment hunt brings her to the loft of David Nolan, Killian Jones, and Robin Loxley, where despite her misgivings she soon finds a home and a family she never knew she wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who's That Girl

**Author's Note:**

> So… I wrote a roommates fic? This is blatantly New Girl oriented, but the boys aren’t really meant to be exactly Schmidt, Winston, Coach or Nick. I’ve got about fifty short little snippets of this thing already because holy hell the hijinks that could happen with these guys.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Who's That Girl?**

The loft is nice, cluttered with mismatched furniture, red brick walls and large windows, it’s all very...nice.

This is the twelfth apartment she’s looked at today, and it’s getting a little ridiculous, if she’s being honest with herself. She’s practically Goldilocks right now - too small, too big, too smelly, too many cats, not enough light; she’s run the gamut of things that she doesn’t like and it doesn’t help that she is really, really not a huge fan of people right now.

The man who’d introduced himself as David is giving her a little tour, sweeping his arms out as he shows her the main room, and she gets a good look down the hallway at the closed doors lining it, a random assortment of things piled just to the left of the corridor - a guitar case, a pair of skis, a - is that a bow?

Emma quirks her brow as she follows him through to the living room, and he waves vaguely toward the kitchen (it’s a really nice kitchen) as he pats at a seat across from him on the couch. “Sorry, the rest of the roommates should have been here by now.”

“No, it’s fine.”

He gives her kind of an awkward smile, his Ken doll hair flopping as he tilts his head, his arms coming out again in a grand gesture as he waves them about. “Do you have any questions for me?”

She’s halfway through grilling him on the building security, and more than halfway convinced that this is the place, this is where she wants to live, when the front door swings open on it’s frame and raised voices drift through. Emma turns her head to look at them even as David lets out an annoyed groan.   
[[MORE]]  
“If you’d bloody well listened to me the first time we wouldn’t be having this issue! What in blazes made you think it was a good idea to -.”

David clears his throat loudly and the two men turn to look at them both guiltily. Emma feels a coil of tension in her belly as the one who’d been speaking catches her gaze, one brow practically jumping into his hair as he appraises her, the corner of his lip turning up as she glares him down. He’s…

Well. Damn.

So much for the loft idea. 

He’s _hot_ , and damn it, she actually kind of liked David, liked the space and the price and the neighborhood and fuck it, seriously, why do nice, normal guys she can have platonic interactions with always have to have such gloriously beautiful friends? 

“David. Remind me what time we were supposed to meet here to talk with flatmates?”

“Two hours ago.”

“And...how many people have you spoken to?”

“Three.”

He’s still staring at her, and she feels uncomfortably certain that those bright blue eyes are seeing into her very soul, and for a moment she’s afraid he’s about to reveal all her deep dark secrets to his roommates. He opens his mouth to speak and Emma tells herself she’s not imagining what the brush of his stubble would feel like sliding along her neck, scratching at the inside of her thighs and _holy shit what_ when the man he’d been yelling at cuffs him on the ear. “This is your fault. I told you we needed to leave.”

“Ah yes, I can recall with perfect clarity the way you said to me ‘David will be fine on his own for a bit, he always hates the first few anyway.’ You absolutely told me we needed to discontinue our enterprise.”

He’s got an accent, thick and curling, something British, maybe, and this is so not fair, _nope_ , not fair at all. Both the men glare hard at him as they point in the direction of the couch. “Jar!”

Sure enough, sitting atop the side table is a jar filled with various denominations of bills, and the label reads 'Pretentious Word Snob'.

“Oh, that was hardly -!”

“ _Jar_!” they both repeat, and Emma watches the way his tongue pokes into his cheek as he shakes his head, digging into the pocket of his jeans as he strolls across the room and shoves a ten into the jar. 

“Satisifed?”

When he slides onto the couch next to David Emma has to tear her eyes away from his jawline, but he catches her all the same, a tiny little smirk curving across his lips as he blatantly slips his gaze over her, introducing himself as Killian.

Emma has already decided against this place, against the stupidly attractive man with the stubble and the smirk and the v-neck teeshirt proudly displaying a patch of chest hair before Robin even joins them, but she sits and talks with the three of them for another twenty minutes, feeling vaguely annoyed with her own libido every time David says something particularly nice or Robin mentions something she ticks off her mental ‘pro’ list of living spaces. 

“How soon would you be able to move in?” 

“Oh, uh… well, I don’t know, there are a few more places I want to -.”

Killian snorts and cuts her off. “You’ve seen, what, ten, fifteen places today already? Probably twenty yesterday. Got the pro’s and con’s all lined out, checked all your yeses and nos. You like this place. Like the space, like the lighting, like the kitchen, like the neighborhood.” He’s staring straight at her, and she feels a bit defensive as he lists off all the things she likes about this place already, because seriously she hasn’t said a single complimentary thing yet, _how_ would he know what she likes. “You just don’t know if it’s the right fit, hmm?” he asks, mocking, and seriously, this guy has known her like, two seconds, how is it he knows exactly which buttons to push to make her want to bash his head into a side table? ( _Or throw him against it and ravish him, audience be damned)_

Robin isn’t even subtle about the elbow to Killian’s ribs, but the man just grimaces and continues. “I suppose you’ll see another twenty tomorrow before you settle on a dingy little apartment above a laundromat that smells of it’s last, obese owner.”

She sees red, glaring at him and the challenge in his eyes as he bites back a grin with his tongue tucked into his cheek, and decides then and there that she dislikes this Killian’s personality just enough to keep from jumping his obnoxious bones.

“I can move in tomorrow.”

\-----

“Are you sure this is the greatest idea? I mean, you said so yourself, this Killian guy is just a massive jerk.” Massive. He’d baited her one too many times and she’d risen to the challenge like a star. The only reason she’d finally agreed to it was realizing how very not interested in Mr. Stellar Personality she was, once he’d opened his damn mouth. Even if it was a really, really nice mouth. “You only broke up with Neal a few months ago. You can stay with me until you find a place, you know that, right?”

“Mary Margaret, I didn’t break up with Neal, he tried to have me framed for grand theft _watches_. I’m not exactly broken up with grief.”

“Well, I guess, if you’re sure…”

“It’s gonna be fine. You’ll meet them all and we’ll have a nice long talk and you can scare them all with the amount of random ways you know to kill a man and you and Robin can bond over your shared love of archery. He’s an instructor or something.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes light up and she goes into a whole, long schpiel about bows and arrows that Emma has never, ever managed to make it all the way through, so she nods her head and smiles as she stuffs henleys and jeans into a box. 

\------

Emma doesn’t remember the dresser being this heavy before. She’s spent the last five minutes trying to leverage it into the right spot but the damn thing won’t cooperate, and even though she’s called like three times Mary Margaret is still sitting in the living room with David, oblivious to the world as they speak in low voices and Emma really should have seen that coming. Her best friend has a definite type, and David Nolan definitely fit the bill, perfect gentleman that he was. Perfectly oblivious too. 

Emma grunts as she presses her weight into the dresser one last time, glaring angrily at the damn thing when it doesn’t move an inch. As she leans back to brush some hair away from her face she gives a startled gasp at the man leaning against her doorway, eyes glinting in amusement. He’s probably been standing there the whole time. Hadn't she banished him from her room an hour ago under the threat of death if he said another snarky word to her? “Need a hand, love?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

“It looks like you could use some help.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“And they can also paint a vivid and _correct_ picture.”

“Really. I got it.”

He pushes himself off the frame anyway, sauntering into her room like he owns the place, and Emma rolls her eyes, accepting the defeat as gracefully as she can even as Mary Margaret’s laughter rolls down the hallway. 

“Fine. Whatever. Just help me get it over there.”

He nods succinctly, bending around the other side of the dresser, and they count it down before lifting.

And really, it’s not her fault her hands are sticky with sweat, and it’s definitely not her fault his stupid little scarf slides off his neck, and it is _not her fault_ when that set of circumstances makes her hand slip just as his leg hooks around the scarf on the floor and he stumbles. He lets out a loud yelp as the dresser sways into the wall. “Bloody fucking hell!”

David and Mary Margaret come running, and Emma drops the dresser back to the floor, stepping towards Killian as he flexes his hand, wincing in pain, and Emma can tell it’s going to bruise already, a bright red welt forming on the back of it where it’d been pinned to the wall. 

“Is everything alright?” 

“I nearly lost my hand, but other than that, yes, everything's just plum perfect.”

“Oh my god, you’re gonna bruise, stop being such a drama queen about it,” Emma tells him, and he shoots her an annoyed look. “I told you not to help me anyway. It’s your own damn fault.”

“Yes, well, pleasant as this little sojourn has been, I have to go to work now. Making drinks with a swollen hand will do wonders for my tips.”

“You work at a _bar_?”

He’s already across the hall, though, stomping around in his own room like an overgrown two-year-old, and David and Mary Margaret are nearly touching shoulders, grinning nervously at each other. “You know, we should go with him. Take a break from all this unpacking. Mary Margaret, would you like to join us for a drink?”

She’s blushing and stammering and when she nods David disappears down the hallway with a skip in his step. Emma gives her an unimpressed look. “All this unpacking? You carried _one_ box to the _elevator_ and I haven’t seen hide or hair of you since.”

Her friend blushes to the roots of her hair, looking guilty, and she takes a step forward, brow furrowing worriedly like she’s only just now realizing that she’s spent most of the day giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush. “Oh, Emma, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize -.”

“It’s fine.” She shrugs it off, because Mary Margaret is never one for leaving a friend in the lurch, and honestly it’s kinda nice to see her so enamored - she’s usually the cautious one, afraid to get too close and this - this could be good for her. David could be good for her. She knows she’s just testy, dealing with Killian snarking at her all day long has put her in a foul mood. “C’mon, lets just go grab a drink with the boys.”

Mary Margaret’s smile is wide and bright and eager, and Emma cuffs an arm around her shoulders and leads her out the door.


	2. Introduce folk dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin gets into a bit of trouble when he decides to steal...from a local big whig prosecutor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Oops. I wrote more roommates fic. And I left it at a cliffhanger. ~~Sorry~~ not sorry._
> 
> _If any of you watch New Girl, I’d like to make sure everyone else understands that REGINA IS FANCYMAN. That is my headcanon and nothing anyone ever says can change my mind.  
> _

**Introduce folk dancing.**

Emma storms into the apartment with Robin fast on her heels, and David jumps up from the couch to greet them, halfway through a ‘hello’ before he stutters to a stop at the look on her face.

“Emma, I really am very sor-.”

“Do you understand what my job entails?” she asks David, who plops himself back onto the couch with muted terror in his eyes.

“You...chase down people who have skipped their bail.”

“Right! Right! That is my _job_! That is what I do for a living! And do you know what I just used the money I make catching lousy, flighty criminals to do?”

“Uh…”

“I just used that money to _bail out Robin_!”

“I did say I was -.”

“You can’t just _steal_ things, Robin!”

“I’m doing it for the _cause_!”

“If you give me a ‘rob from the rich to give to the poor’ schtick right now I will literally roundhouse you in the face. Don’t think I can’t do it.”

He looks appropriately cowed by the threat, and Emma lets out an annoyed shriek before she storms off towards her room only to be waylaid by the head that pops out from the door opposite her own. “Ah, Swan, looking cantankerous as ever. Were you yelling?”

“ _Not now,_ Killian,” she tells him, but as usual being shot down only seems to make him more determined. 

“You’re looking a bit tense. Anything I can do to...calm your nerves? I’ve heard massage does wonders, and I’ve quite dexterous hands. Perhaps I could -.”

“Perhaps I could _punch you in the face_.”

“That time of the month then,” he says, shit eating grin on his face because he _knows_ equating her moods to PMS pisses her off more than almost anything else he does, and seriously, how did she end up living with these people? Oh, that’s right, Tall Dark and Obnoxious had thrown down the gauntlet and as usual Emma had been unwilling to back down from a challenge.

David is still as wonderful as ever, calm and quiet and he always sets the coffee pot before he goes to bed so it’s always fresh and ready for her when she stumbles awake in the morning. 

But now Robin is running around committing B and E and stealing shit from some big time prosecutor who has a close and personal relationship with Commissioner Gold, and Killian...Killian seems to have made it his entire goal in life to annoy and sexually frustrate her to an early grave. 

“I will stab you,” she tells him, and regrets it the moment it tumbles from her lips, and instead of waiting around to hear the no doubt lascivious innuendo she slides into her room and slams the door around his reply.

\-----

“I’m fucked,” he tells them, staring at the piece of paper laid out on the table in front of him, and he seems more upset that Regina Mills is actually pressing charges than anything else. 

“Just go talk to her. I’m sure she’s a reasonable woman.”

Emma snorts into her glass. She hasn’t had many dealings with Regina, but reasonable wouldn’t be the first term she’d use to describe her. Vindictive bitch would be somewhere near the top. 

“You broke into her office and stole a piece of priceless art. A piece of priceless art you proceeded to destroy.”

“I dropped it! It was an accident!”

“Why were you even taking it?”

He glances down at the bartop, ears a bit red, and Emma has a sinking feeling it wasn’t about the golden tipped arrow at all. Jesus Christ.

What even is her life?

“I think I will go and speak to her. Right now,” he says, and before Emma can say anything to stop him he’s halfway across the bar. Killian whistles, sharing a look with her, and she shakes her head in amusement, while David stares between them, completely oblivious.

\-----

“Well, luckily for you, she dropped the charges, although how you finangled that I will never know. Regina Mills is ruthless.”

“We...found common ground.” He’s grinning from ear to ear as he tells them, and Emma notices he’s wearing the same shirt he was yesterday, and it looks like at least two buttons are missing from it.

“Oh gross.”

\------

 _Blackbeard_ is packed as usual for a Friday night, and with Halloween rolling around on a Tuesday this year every single person in the bar is decked out in ridiculous costumes. Mary Margaret had gently cajoled (forced) Emma and David into Gryffindor scarves and black robes, and it’s actually kind of adorable to watch them together, Mary Margaret adjusting the ridiculous red wig on David's head every once in a while as they make their way around the bar, talking to anyone they meet like they’re some sort of royal pair off to greet their subjects. 

Robin had promised to meet them here twenty minutes ago, but ‘punctual’ doesn’t actually seem to be a concept that he understands, and so Emma has spent the last hour or so swirling her glass of scotch while she watches Killian and Ruby being bombarded with drunken college students waving at them and trying to call out drink orders around masks and full body suits. 

Ruby is decked out in some ridiculously short skirt, her long dark hair gathered in a braid down one shoulder, the red velvet cape sluicing through the air every time she turns. There’s a wicker basket hiding somewhere under the bartop, and every once in a while she’ll head out with shots tucked inside it. Every time she does the regulars tend to start up a cheer, and it’s obvious to Emma that this isn’t her first time using the Red Riding Hood theme to garner a few crazy tips.

There’s some guy down at the end who keeps sending her eyes, and she’d had the misfortune of overhearing him tell Ruby just what kind of huffing and puffing he wants to be doing right about now. Emma is always surprised that Ruby handles them so well, a little smile or an eye roll that on Emma would have had customers yelling for management, harrassment claims be damned. 

But it’s Killian she’s having a difficult time with tonight. He’d moaned and groaned and complained for ages about having to wear a costume every Halloween at the bar, and David and Robin had had the usual platitudes for him (Emma’s pretty sure he’d put over a hundred dollars in the PWS jar the night be started complaining), but the man sure does know how to rock a lot of leather.

Leather pants, leather vest, a sheer looking shirt he’s got open down to his sternum, a crossbones charm dangling low on a chain around his neck, he’s got every woman in the bar salivating and he knows it, eyes dancing behind heavy liner as women fawn over him while he makes drinks. 

The funny thing is, despite the number of women lining the bartop just to get a few minutes of flirt in, every time he has a moment his eyes dart to her, concern etching across his face when he sees she’s still being unsociable in her little corner, and Emma keeps getting a little twinge of warmth every time he slides his gaze over her. He looks absolutely fucking sinful, and it’s completely unfair, but lately she’s been feeling a whole lot less sexual tension (oh, it’s there, it is definitely there) and a whole lot more...friendliness. She’s not great at making friends, and even worse at opening up to people, but Killian doesn’t seem to have a problem sliding right past those walls she keeps up and getting to the important bits. 

It’s a little disconcerting, and Emma isn’t really sure what to do with it, but as uncomfortable as it makes her knowing that he can read her like an open book...she has no desire to make him stop.

That’s a scary thought.

“Emma!”

Robin slides into the seat beside her with a grin, his eyes going wide as he tries to be subtle about the head tilt he gives her, nearly knocking the back of his skull into his companions as she skids to a stop behind him, clearly not expecting him to stop moving. 

He looks as silly as she’d thought he would, clad in black from head to toe, his mustache carefully trimmed and his face mostly covered by the black mask and bandana he’s sporting. There’s a little toy sword at his hip, and he looks like he’s had a few drinks already.

It’s his companion that makes Emma snort scotch through her nose. 

Regina Mills. Emma has never seen that woman out of a power-suit, staring down her nose at someone while she stomps around in crazy heels, but apparently even stonehearted prosecutors let their hair down on Halloween. Or. Well. Let their wig down.

She’s in a bright red dress with puffy sleeves and gold stitching across the ribcage, long blonde hair billowing around her in a halo while she gives Emma a side eye, and Emma stares at the pair for a solid minute until her brain wraps itself around the idea of Regina Mills actually agreeing to a Princess Bride themed couples costume.

“Heeey, Robin,” she says, while Regina continues to eye her. “Ms. Mills. Long time no see.”

And thank god for that. The last time she’d seen Regina Mills they’d been dropping charges against her to the tune of twenty grand in stolen goods, and she has no desire to relive that tale any time soon. Maybe she’s forgotten.

“Please. Call me Regina. Ms. Mills makes me feel old.”

To be fair, she is. Old. Older than the rest of them anyway. Emma doesn’t know exactly how old Robin is, but he has to be close to the same age as Killian (college roommates who’d decided they didn’t want to try and live apart. Ever.) and he clocks in as the oldest at a whopping twenty-nine. Regina has to be close to forty, not that she really looks it. She isn’t really encroaching on cougar territory with Robin, but she’s still older. Stable. Not living with a bunch of almost-thirty’s who have no solid goals or mapped out life plans. She’s already been married and had a kid and she’s like a real live adult hanging out amidst the man-children Emma spends most of her life with now.

Killian swings around to greet Robin with a beer already in hand, and he makes a comment about their costume that has Regina glowering even as she lowers herself into a seat beside Robin, and this has become her life - valiantly attempting not to stare at one roommates bitten bottom lip and glorious chest hair while another one makes googly eyes at a woman he robbed to get the attention of. 

Emma sighs as she takes another swig of her drink, smiling as David and Mary Margaret finally wind their way back around to them, and she feels the moment something goes wrong. It’s almost like the air is being sucked from the room, and Killian goes stock still in front of her as David and Robin still on either side of her. 

She swivels in her seat, turning to stare at the woman decked out in some crappy looking bar wench outfit, raven hair curling around her shoulders, smiling blue eyes taking in Killian as her lip tilts up on one side. “Hello, Killian,” she says, her voice like honey, and Robin clenches his fist beside her.

Killian hasn’t moved a muscle, and Emma is half convinced he’s actually frozen in place when he finally clears his throat, any hint of the confident pirate he’s been playing all night completely gone. “Milah.”


	3. I'm Not Gonna Be Ignored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian has some big news for the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a continuation of my New Girl AU, and OMG you guys are going to hate me so much I’m sorry. But I’ve spent the past two days writing TWD fic and seriously this is the closest I could get to fluffy. I promise this story is not going to continue to be such an emotional whirlwind.
> 
> Yeah no actually I don’t promise that because who knows? But I will at least try?
> 
> Also I kind of want to apologize for what I did to Milah here. I really really do love Milah on the show, and I think they had a beautiful tragic romance but for the purposes of this story she’s not really anyone’s favorite person.

**I’m Not Gonna Be Ignored**

Emma doesn’t know much about Milah other than the way Robin and David say her name, spitting it out like a curse when conversations sometimes roll around to past loves, and Emma gets the feeling that if she ever breathed a word about Neal to them they’d use his name the same way. Killian tends to get overly defensive, and she’s seen the way he closes off even as he tells her that Milah is hardly as bad as his friends make her out to be, but whatever happened between them, it hadn’t ended well. 

She seems nice enough. She’s been friendly and nice since Halloween, despite Robin’s refusal to speak more than one word at a time to her and David’s bordering-on-rude interactions with her (Emma can’t imagine David ever actually being rude, but there’s something about the way he smiles at her that makes Emma feel like he’d make a great bail bondsman.)

It’s weird to see her wandering the halls of the apartment in sweats and one of Killian’s old college tees, something she must have dug from the depths of his horde of clothes, because Emma’s never seen them before, but she always has a friendly smile and an interested tilt to her head during their conversations, like she’s really paying close attention. Killian, though more distant with his roommate than Emma has ever seen before…seems…happy. Content, maybe. Quieter, easier. Despite all that, Emma is always finding reasons not to like her.

She uses all the hot water in the shower. She drinks like three cups of coffee before the sun comes up and always forgets to brew more, leaving David and Emma lurching around barking grumpily at each other while they wait for more to brew (she has a bruise on her hip from bumping into the island that she manages to hit _every single morning_ without fail in the exact same spot regardless of how many times she reminds herself to avoid it before she goes to sleep). She thinks the PWS jar is obnoxious, always cutting across to plead Killian’s case when he goes off on some rant, and even Killian seems to find the gesture less sweet and more cloying. 

She’s constantly telling Robin that Regina isn’t worth his time, that he could do _so much better_ , and honestly Emma sometimes just wants to point out that Robin is an archery instructor who delivers pizza to keep up on bills, whereas Regina is actually surprisingly kind and funny, on top of being hugely successful and well rounded, and yet she still finds Robin to be interesting and fun and sometimes when they don’t realize she’s watching she’s seen Regina smile in a way that makes her seem fifteen years younger.

But her biggest catching point is the way she treats Mary Margaret. When they’d officially met, the morning after Halloween, Killian and Milah stumbling through the door at five in the morning, waking the group from their drunken cuddle puddle on the living room floor, Mary Margaret had been all smiles despite the no doubt miraculous hangover she was dealing with, greeting Milah like an old friend even as David gave her a squinty glare. When she’d excused herself to go to the bathroom, Milah had watched her walk all the way down the hallway. “Well. She’s certainly…sunny.”

It hadn’t gotten better from there. Where Milah was generally pleasant enough, there was something about the judgemental way she watched Emma’s best friend that particularly irked her - Mary Margaret was the kindest, most genuine person Emma knew, and Milah… well, Milah seemed to find that personally offensive. 

But she made Killian happy. Or, at least, Emma thought she did. It wasn’t like they’d talked, much, since Milah’s sudden reappearance, and Emma kept telling herself her feelings for Milah did not in any way hinge on the sudden withdrawal of all of Killian’s more forward flirtations.

Right. Nothing at all to do with it.

———

"I always hated this game," Milah tells her, as the boys continue to name off the action villians most suited to each member of the group, and David shoots her a withering glare. 

The bar is slow, and Ruby is off in the corner talking to some blonde doctor looking type, and the rest of them are off for the day, while Killian doesn’t get off for another two hours or so. They’d all decided day drinking was the way to go, and Emma can feel her buzz starting around the corners of her eyes. For some reason the way Milah is leaned into her, conspiratorial as if they’re good friends, is making Emma’s fingers itch to hit something, and so instead she gulps down the rest of her drink and slams the glass down on the table. Killian drifts over a few moments later, ignoring the hand Milah sneaks out to slide along his arm as he shoots Emma a concerned look. “Are you sure you don’t want to slow down a bit?”

"Pretty damn sure, mom," she mutters, absolutely _not_ glaring at Milah’s dancing fingers drifting across Killian’s side. “Make me one of those awful fruity things all your students order, huh?”

"I really don’t think -."

Milah cuts across him. “Students?”

"He’s been teaching a class down at the university once a week," Emma tells her, feeling a little gleeful that she looks confused. "I’m surprised you didn’t know."

"Hmm," she says, and there’s something in Milah’s eyes as she looks Killian over that makes Emma feel kinda guilty for revealing that tidbit of information, but it’s not like she’d known it was a secret. She’s surprised, honestly, the woman is practically living with them already, and she’s not sure how Killian could keep being a professor a secret from the supposed love of his life. 

"I want one too," Robin says, his words a little slurred - he’s been here since eleven, some fight between Robin and Regina sending him to the bar extra early for a heart to heart with Killian, and they’d all trailed in after him, hoping to be supportive. Unfortunately for them, ‘supportive’ usually meant getting blindingly drunk together and commiserating through swaying embraces and slurred words that usually are forgotten the next day. "Make sure it has a little umbrella in it. Regina hates the little umbrellas."

"I think you’ve both had enough, mate," Killian says, and David shoots him an annoyed look. 

"Make it three. I want an extra umbrella. Two extra umbrellas. I want…I want four umbrella’s."

He stares them down for a few moments before rolling his eyes and stalking back towards the bar, and David and Robin start up a cheer while the blender buzzes behind the bar. 

"Alex Forrest," Robin finally says, pointing an accusatory finger at Milah, who raises an eyebrow as she swirls her straw inside her glass - just a Coke for her, and Emma isn’t sure she’s ever seen Milah drink a drop of alcohol. Curious.

"I’m sorry?"

"From Fatal Attraction. You are definitely an Alex Forrest."

"Wasn’t she crazy?" Emma asks, and Robin fixes his gaze carefully on Milah. 

"Exactly."

———

The first time Emma is witness to one of Milah and Killian’s fights (the very tail end of it, at least, Emma and David had walked through the door to the sound of a bedroom door slamming and Milah hadn’t given them a second glance as she collected her purse and stormed out) she finally gets a bit of an idea as to why David and Robin dislike her so much.

Killian slumps next to them on the couch, running a hand through his hair, and he sighs as David fixes him with an “I told you so” stare. 

"So I guess you guys are back to form, huh? No more honeymoon period?"

"Bugger off, mate," he says, but he sounds weary, and Emma watches him carefully as he studies the table for a moment before standing and stalking to the kitchen, pulling a six pack from the fridge and popping open the tab on one before he’s even made it back to the couch. 

"You wanna talk about it?"

"I bloody well _do not _.”__

Two hours later he’s explaining to a very concerned Mary Magaret that Milah thinks he’s wasting his talents working a part time job at a crappy school, that he needs to find a tenured position, to quit the bar gig. “Like it’s so incredibly easy to find a university willing to give a a man with a late sixteenth century history focus a full time position with a guaranteed salary. It’s like she’s not paid an ounce of attention to the system since she got out of it.”

"She used to be a professor?"

Robin and David go still and silent, and Emma changes the subject before things get tense. They cart Killian off to bed an hour later, and Emma rounds on the two of them while Mary Margaret gathers up a glass of water and a bottle of Advil to leave on his bedside table.

"Okay, I was just gonna leave it alone, but what the hell was that?"

David and Robin share a look, and Emma crosses her arms, ready to drag it out of them if she has to. David finally sighs. “Milah was a professor. Specifically, she was Killian’s professor. Married to the Dean of the law school at the time.”

"Are you…" Ugh. No. This is. Jesus. No wonder Killian seemed to find it easy to understand her crazy walls and trust issues. 

"She started up with him our junior year. We didn’t find out until the divorce was almost through, but Killian was already in deep. I think - well, she loved him. She probably still does. But Milah can never seem to be satisfied by what she has. Always needs something better. She’s the one that talked him out of writing his book - waste of his knowledge, she told him."

"Killian wanted to write a book?"

"Hmm. He’s already written most of it. In fact, I think, a few months after you moved in, he started up on it again, but…well. I doubt Milah’s very supportive of the idea of him ever finishing it."

Emma goes to bed feeling raw and upset, angry with Killian for letting himself be convinced that the things he wanted weren’t good enough, angry at herself for letting her own wounds blind her with righteous indignation, feeling terrible and lonely and incredibly angry, and she tosses and turns for hours before finally falling into a fitful sleep. 

———

"I’ve got some news," he tells them, staring anxiously around the room. It’s been a month since the Milah spat, and they’d obviously hashed it out - Milah’s here practically every night, and as hard as Emma has tried to keep an open mind, as hard as she has tried to be friendly with the woman, she can’t help feeling like every day Killian spends with her is a day closer to him losing everything about himself that they love.

"Oh, thank god," Robin mutters. "You’ve tossed her off finally."

"Tossed her - Robin, I know you don’t like Milah but I think it’s about time you got over your petty little dislike of her and _grow up_.”

"So, you haven’t broken up," David says, looking disappointed.

"No, we haven’t. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

They are completely silent as he wrings his hands in front of him, and Emma gets a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach a moment before the words tumble from his lips. 

"I’ve been offered a position at Oxford. It’s only for a year, Milah’s certain once I’ve settled in it’s only a matter of time before -."

"No. No, absolutely not." Robin stands, shaking his head, and Emma can’t help but think it’s a little comical that Robin thinks he has any say in this, even if it’s the only thought racing through her mind. "Are you out your _bloody mind_? This is ridiculous! You can’t just drop everything here and fly off to England on a whim at the behest of a woman who’s already proven quite adept at _breaking your heart_!”

David chimes in beside her. “He’s right, Killian. What about the book? What about the bar? What do you plan to do if it all falls through or you guys follow pattern and you’re back here, single without a job?”

Emma almost flinches when Killian stands, jerking up angrily. “This isn’t a bloody debate. I’m going.”

"But you-."

"No. For once in your life can you just be happy fo me? This is Oxford! This is the opportunity of a lifetime and you can’t even gather enough will to congratulate me!"

David’s voice is soft. “Since when have you ever wanted to teach at Oxford?”

Emma startles when she realizes Killian is looking straight at her, eyes blazing, and she stays silent. None of this is her business, she knows, she has no place to tell him how to live his life. “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet. Not going to lecture me about what a horrible mistake I’m making?” 

Her throat feels tight and her head feels liks it’s going to explode from pressure, but all she can do is shrug. “I just want you to be happy, Killian.”

He looks like he’s been bowled over by her words, and as David and Robin turn towards her in absolute betrayed shock his gaze falls miserably, shoulders slumped as he turns away from them and stalks off down the hall.

———

"Yeah, I’m not going."

"David - "

"It’s not happening. I don’t know what you thought was going to happen but there is no way in hell I’m going smile and wave them off at the airport."

"You’ve barely spoken a word to him since he told us. You don’t think it’d be nice to at least _attempt_ -“

"Not going, Emma, so if you wanna be on time I suggest you go now."

"You know, you’re kind of a crappy best friend. Just because you don’t like what he’s doing, you’re not even going to wish him good luck?"

"I’ll wish him good luck when he finally gets that banshee’s claws out and thinks for himself."

"David -."

"Goodbye, Emma."

"Fine. But I’m going to tell Mary Margaret you didn’t come with me."

Davids sigh is long suffering. “Damn it.”

———

"Nope."

"Robin."

"Absolutely not. I will not take part in the destruction of a good man."

"Robin, you’re being a bit dramatic."

"She will ruin him. Already has, if we’re being completely honest. I won’t support it."

"I’m going to withhold sex for a month unless you go and say goodbye to your best friend."

"You wouldn’t."

Emma feels a spark of terror race up her spine at Regina’s pursed lips and raised eyebrow. “Try me.”

"Fine, but I’m doing this under duress, I hope you understand that."

———

"What on earth are you doing here?"

"We’re probably about to get arrested, so give us a hug, mate."  
  
They’d been late, and Killian’s text had been disappointed when he’d told her he had to get through security if he wanted to make his flight. It’s a smaller airport, and the security was a bit lax - sneaking through onto the terminal had been sadly easy. 

His smile is bright and wide and happy for the first time in weeks and Emma feels tears prickle at her eyes as he claps Robin on the back and David catches him around the middle in a failed attempt to pick him up. 

"Hey! Hey, you!"

Robin and David both turn to look at the TSA agent staring straight at them, and with a last giddy smile at their friend they take off down the concourse. 

"I should probably call Mary Margaret before we all get arrested," she tells him, and he grins at her.

"Thank you. I know they weren’t going to come."

"Yeah, well, they’re dumb."

"Hmm. Loyal, though. Suppose getting themselves slapped on a no fly list is proof enough of that."

Emma can’t help the chuckle that escapes her, and she leans forward to hug him before she can think better of it. “Just…don’t get too English, okay?”

His laughter is warm and bright against her ear. “I’m Irish to my bones, love, couldn’t stomach it even if I tried.”

"Well…good. Erin go bragh, and all that."

His fingers slide across her arm as they pull apart, and Emma pulls in a deep breath as she wraps her arms around herself. “I’ll see you around, Emma Swan.”

“Yeah.”

She stares after him as he walks away, not even blinking as she keeps watch, and he shoots her a final parting grin as he turns the corner and disappears.


	4. this fantasy, this fallacy, this tumbling stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin has a relationship crisis, Emma gets way too close to revealing things she really isn't ready for people to know about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More roommates fic for my LOVELY shipmates!!
> 
> I am deeply unsatisfied with the way this chapter turned out (I can’t get over being depressing, apparently), which is half the reason it took me forever to write, but you guys have been patient and seriously I love you all for being persistent in your love for this fic. Thank you for all your kind words and your nudges to get me working on it

**this fantasy, this fallacy, this tumbling stone**

Although Emma really did adore Mary Margaret and all her little quirks, there were a few things Emma had to roll her eyes at when it came to her best friend, and her obsession with astrology was one of them. There were only so many star charts and mercury’s in retrograde she could stomach, but that never stopped Mary Margaret from texting her at three in the morning to tell her her horoscope meant great things for the month ahead.

She’d given up all hope the day her friend had told her she’d meet her soul mate within the next year, only to bump into Neal on a stakeout two days later, entering her into a six month stint of whirlwind romance that had ended with a knock on her door and a warrant in her face.

Yeah.

Regina seems to find it amusingly silly as Mary Margaret lays out the tarot cards on the table, sipping her glass of merlot with a raised eyebrow. Girls Night has been a long time in the making, and Emma is surprised to realize she’s actually enjoying the whole thing, the three of them gossiping like schoolgirls and laughing over the men in their lives.

"I know you both think its silly," Mary Margaret is saying. "But even if its all just coincidence I think its fun."

"Its not entirely without its merits," Regina says, to Emma’s immense shock, as she swirls the wine in her glass.

"Oh really?"

She smiles over the brim of her drink. “I went to a psychic, once, when I was very young, giddy in love with Daniel and naive enough to think the world was simple and kind.”

She doesn’t talk about her late husband very often, but sometimes when she does Emma gets glimpses of the young sweet girl she’d been, and imagines what she might have been like.

"When she read my heartline I almost ran out the door in righteous indignation."

Mary Margaret nods like that makes sense, but Emma just stares between them, confused, as Regina reaches out her hand, palm up, to show her the deep creases.

"It splits, right here, see? Well, in most circles of thinking on the subject, the depth of the wrinkle and the split means that I was meant to have two loves, deep and true the both of them. Well, you can imagine, at the time, how distraught I was at the thought of ever loving another man than Daniel."

"But you stayed?" Mary Margaret prompts, and Regina smiles softly.

"I did, entirely convinced she was a complete hack, barely listening to a word she was saying, but one thing stuck out. At the time it was because of Daniel, but now…"

Her cheeks tinged a bit pink and she turned an accusatory finger on Emma.

"If you breathe a word of this outside this room I will find a way to make your life a living hell."

"C’mon, I don’t even believe in this stuff."

"That’s not…" She sighs. "Have I told you how I met Daniel?"

"You yelled at him for stabling your horse with the wrong type of feed, didn’t you?"

Her chuckle is soft and wistful.

"That I did. Anyway, the psychic told me that my heart would belong to the horse and the lion, and naturally, I tucked it away because even if she was completely full of shit it was a nice thought, my heartline pointing straight to my sweet stable boy.

"Of course, when I met Robin the words came rushing back to me. When he came to my office to apologize for trying to steal that awful garbage "art piece" of an arrow, I was entirely prepared to have the police arrest him and slap a few stalking charges and a restraining order on him, but something stopped me."

"Probably the dimples."

Regina chuckled. “Oh, they might have had something to do with it. But he was wearing one of those ridiculous flannel shirts with the cutoff arms, and when I saw the tattoo on his forearm I almost ran from the room to get away from him.”

"Its a family crest, isn’t it?"

She hums in amusement, her gaze a little vague as she dips into the old memory. “Yes.”

"And it freaked you out so much because…?"

Emma can’t hide the grin on her face, wondering how on earth Miss Coincidence Doesn’t Exist isn’t making the connection immediately.

"Its a lion," she tells her friend, "The family crest is a lion."

 

\------

 

“How do I look?”

Emma glances up from her phone to stare at Robin, who looks a little ridiculous, if she’s being honest. Good, sure, but ridiculous. Regina is having a party for her son’s birthday, and all of her colleagues are coming, and Robin is convinced that the moment they all realize he’s a pizza delivery boy she’ll never speak to him again, as if she doesn’t already know exactly who he is. He’s decked out in a grey suit, crisp white shirt and a tie she doesn’t doubt Regina bought him, because it looks fucking expensive and Robin refuses to buy jeans that cost more than twenty-five dollars.

“You look like a regular old business-man. It doesn’t suit you.”

He shoots her a nasty glare as he pulls at the tie. “Now, you remember, if anyone asks, I’m an instructor.”

“True.”

“You do not give them an inkling of what I instruct, do you understand?”

“Robin, Regina likes you just fine. Why are we going with a ruse?”

“Emma. At least one of her coworkers must have been present when she had those summons written up. Which means at least one of them knows I broke into her office merely to have a reason to talk to the woman. I don’t want to look ridiculous.”

“Right. We wouldn’t want that.”

“This is very serious.”

“This is definitely my serious face.”

David barks out a laugh as he slides into the living room, and Robin looks like he’s having a heart attack. “Is that what you’re wearing??”

The man glances down at the khaki pants and the plaid button up with a hole near the bottom, and shrugs. “She said dress casual. Why are you wearing a suit?”

“Dress - dress - _dress casual_ is an entirely different thing for these people, do you understand? It merely means they wear three hundred dollar shoes instead of their five-hundred dollar shoes.”

“I don’t think their shoes cost five-hundred dollars, Robin,” Emma mutters, surreptitiously taking a photo of the man as his neck continues to purple under the collar of his shirt. She shoots the photo off with a smart ass message before turning to face her roommates fully.

“Wear something else. Anything else. Please god, just - Look! Emma is wearing a _dress_. You’d think that would drive across the point of how _not_ casual this is.”

“Hey, I wear dresses!”

She withers under the disbelieving eyebrows both of them shoot her.

“Fine,” David says, already unbuttoning the plaid and he sulks back towards his room. “But if I see someone in jeans I’m drinking myself into embarrassment.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Robin mutters, eyes a little wild as he turns to give Emma the most helpless look she’s ever seen on the man. 

Emma just smiles at him. “Everything’s gonna be fine, Robin. I promise.”

When he slumps into the seat beside her, a pathetic little bundle of nerves, he stares forlornly at the table top for a long moment. “She’s going to realize what a loser I am.”

“I’m pretty sure she already knows you’re a loser, buddy.”

“Yes, but she’s only ever seen me on _my_ turf. I’m brilliant on my turf, clever and flirty and I have an air of mischief women find intriguing.”

“We’re not writing your Cupid profile right now.”

“I’m wonderful with her son and I’m surprisingly great in bed -.”

“Oh god, please stop.”

“But Emma. I’m almost thirty years old and I’ve never owned my own car, or held a job that couldn’t be done by a stoned teenager. All of her friends have vacation homes in Aspen.”

“Robin, do you actually know how much money attorneys make?” 

He waves a dismissive hand at her. “It doesn’t matter. She’s going to realize what a disaster I am and it’s going to be over. Done. Finito.”

“You’re such a drama queen.”

He sighs, tilts his head to give her a careful look. “I really like her, Emma.”

She pats his knee reassuringly. “Look, she’s probably gonna kill me for saying this, but I’m pretty sure she likes you too. A lot. Like, enough to ignore the fact that you still hold the high score on the PacMan game at the bar, a lot.”

Robin perks at that. “She _likes_ that.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

But now he seems to be cataloguing all the ridiculous silly things Regina likes about him, and thank god, it seems to be helping. The two of them are getting a little bit beyond obnoxious at this point, and Emma would really love for them to stop dancing around the fact that they are definitely at least half in love by now. 

When David slides out of his room wearing black slacks and a band teeshirt Emma is half convinced Robin’s head is going to explode, and she sits back to enjoy the show as Robin chases David across the apartment, screaming expletives and threatening painful death.

\------

 **Emma Swan** : _Look at our little dimpled thief, all grown up and trying to look suave._

 **Killian Jones** : _Tell Robin he looks like a tool._

**Emma Swan** : _Not until he accidentally tells Regina he loves her tonight and she accidentally asks him to marry her._

Killian Jones: _Is the likelihood of either of those things happening very high?_

 **Emma Swan:** _The odds are in everyone’s favor. I give it six months before she’s pregnant._

 **Killian Jones:** _She has a twelve-year-old, is it likely she’ll want another?_

 **Emma Swan:** _I keep catching him breaking away from groups to hang out with the kid. I wouldn’t put it past him to start poking holes in condoms._

 **Killian Jones** : _Good God._

\------

“We have to go. Now. Immediately.”

“Oh god, Robin, what did you do?”

“Me? I did nothing. Nothing at all. Not a thing.”

“Robin.”

He sighs, abandoning his attempt to yank David by the arm out of the house. “The _Crocodile_ is here.”

David’s eyes snap up, and he sets his wine glass down without preamble. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are we never getting rid of these people?”

“Okay, slow down. Who is the Crocodile and why do you have a ridiculous code name for him?”

But David is already shoving her towards the door while Robin makes a valiant effort to not say goodbye to Regina. He gets all of ten paces before he sighs and spins on his heel with a quick “I’ll see you in a moment. Start the car.”

They’re halfway home before David finally opens his mouth to speak.

“It’s Milah’s ex-husband. Mr. Gold. Killian used to call him the Crocodile because...actually I don’t even remember why. I’m sure it was amusing at the time.”

“Milah’s ex is _Mr. Gold_?”

It’s honestly a whole lot to wrap her head around, but honestly, how had they all ended up in this stupid fucking web of coincidental mutual acquaintances? And did Robin actually speak to him? Jesus Christ, what if he’d noticed her with them? It wasn’t like she’d agreed to sign his stupid gag order when he’d helped to have the charges dropped against her, but what if he’d said something to Robin about his stupid fucking son and her stupid, naive love for him. What if -

“How do you know Mr. Gold?”

“Friend of a friend of a...friend, I guess.”

“Well he’s not exactly a fan of either of us, so… “

“Yeah, I doubt I’m high on his list either.”

Robin gives her a shady look, but David just sighs. “Well, other than his son he’s probably hard pressed to find anyone he actually likes.”

She forces her face into as neutral an expression as she can manage, but Robin, as usual, has noticed. At least it’s not Killian. At _least_ he’s not there reading every secret she’s ever kept in the depths of her eyes. 

“Perhaps not even him,” Robin says, eyeing Emma’s tight shoulders and carefully blank face. “I heard he was on the run. Wanted for something. Hard to have a criminal for a son, in a job like that.”

“What was his name again?” David asks, completely oblivious to what Robin is trying to do, and Emma curls her hand into a fist as she glares down at her lap, tears prickling in her eyes, and she knows Robin isn’t doing this to be cruel, but _Jesus_ this is not something she is remotely prepared to deal with. 

“Neal,” Robin says, and she turns to stare out the window, praying to god Robin leaves it be, because she is completely unprepared to have this conversation and if David is alerted that something is up he’ll use puppy eyes and warm hugs on her until she blurts the whole thing out and cries her eyes out. 

He leaves it alone, and lets David turn to conversation to all the awful things they’d done to Gold’s car and office at the tender age of twenty-one. 

When they get home, Robin excuses himself quickly, although not before shooting Emma a concerned glance, and David plops himself on the couch, flicking on the tv while he waits to hear from Mary Margaret. Emma joins him for a good long while, enjoying the peace and quiet that comes with dealing with an oblivious (god bless him) David as she tries to talk herself out of a rather fantastic panic attack, and slides off to bed just before Mary Margaret gets to the loft. (If there’s anyone who can get her to break on this, who will see her and immediately _know_ she’s freaking out, it’ll be Mary Margaret.

She’s slow to get ready for bed, listening to the traffic outside, the slow timbre of Robin’s voice wafting through the walls (he’s on the phone with someone), the tinkling laughter of her best friend as it echoes down the hallway, the sound of a car alarm going off outside her window.

Finally, she curls herself up into bed, forcing her mind away from the mess of _Neal_ , and she’s just about to nod off when her phone pings with a new message.

 **Killian Jones** : _Are you alright? Robin said you seemed upset after the party._

She almost tells him. Her fingers _itch_ to just write it all out, tell him all about how stupid and naive and lonely she’d been, about how terrified she’d been when he’d just up and left, how miserable and upset she’d been before she ever got to _angry_ , how the only thing keeping her from just turning it all off and never dealing with her emotions again was Mary Margaret. And then him, and Robin, and David.

 **Emma Swan:** _Robin should mind his own business._

She doesn’t tell him.

 **Killian Jones** : _Sorry I asked._

and then

Killian Jones: _Goodnight, Swan._

Emma cries herself to sleep, tears muffled against her pillow.


End file.
